


With Friends Like These

by dralexreid



Series: Dr Piper Bishop [66]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Gen, Mental Health Issues, paranoid schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28971285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dralexreid/pseuds/dralexreid
Summary: There are hints of ableism in the original episode. As unsavoury as they are, they are a part of the original characters which was why I kept them in the dialogue.
Relationships: Dr Spencer Reid/Dr Piper Bishop
Series: Dr Piper Bishop [66]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972852
Kudos: 12





	With Friends Like These

**Author's Note:**

> There are hints of ableism in the original episode. As unsavoury as they are, they are a part of the original characters which was why I kept them in the dialogue.

Piper could feel each lie she had told her family crack a small part of her. On paper, Piper Bishop was on a plane headed for the San Francisco Field Office to work on a team of victim specialists. Instead, she was in a car headed for Reston, Virginia to work with an undercover protection detail. Emily, with her dying breath, had made her promise to protect her little dahlia. Clyde had put her in contact with Tom Koehler, an old friend who had taken Declan under his surveillance. He was back now to handle the new situation. The knowledge that Declan was alive had reached Ian and with the father on the loose, Declan’s protection was all important. By tomorrow, if Doyle was still stalking them all, Ian would realise that Piper had never made it to San Francisco. She was all in now. No-one particularly cared about the series of cars that surrounded the Koehler residence, especially considering that from the outside, it simply looked like a dinner party. In the dark residential street, no-one noticed the young woman with short, cropped hair step out of her car, adjusting her leather jacket over her smooth maroon dress as she crossed the road, a silver acorn bouncing on her chest while a warm man in a tux welcomed her inside. Her brilliant brown eyes glanced across the room, scanning the people she would be working with. “Excellent, everyone’s here,” the man said, presumably Tom. “Let’s get to work.” The dinner party was genuine, and it had become evident rather quickly that they would become close rather quickly, despite not knowing anyone’s real name.

Across from Piper sat Lincoln Rook, a technical analyst, responsible for gathering background checks on everyone in the Declan and Louise’s lives from which she could create psychological profiles. Lillian Rudolph was the surveillance officer who would keep tabs on both the neighbourhood and the campus from the basement of the Rook residence. Luke Rogers would not only keep an eye on Declan at school but also work as their SOO. His record, like Piper’s, was partly academic, with a degree in behavioural psychology. Their cover was simple. Lincoln and Laurel Rook had just bought the house and decided to keep Louise as their housekeeper. Lincoln was a journalist from Germany while Laurel was a photographer. Over dinner, the four-member team and their handler discussed a fairly simple system to watch Declan and Louise and keep them safe. At the end of the evening, four cars separated from the residence before merging into one warehouse. Lillian was settled comfortably in a moving truck which hosted half of Laurel’s furniture and half of Lincoln’s. The next morning, all four members settled comfortably in their roles, compartmentalising who they were to who they were going to be.

* * *

Derek made his way from the elevator to see Penelope staring sullenly at a framed picture of Emily. She and Spencer had been hit hard by her loss, followed by Piper’s and it started to dawn on him that his façade of the suave, happy-go-lucky Derek Morgan would have to emerge as he approached Penelope. “Penelope, you gotta stop staring at her. Prentiss wouldn't want us to sulk. You know that,” Derek said gently.

“I’m not sulking,” she said sulkily. “I’m surrounded by testosterone now.”

“She would also want us to embrace Seaver,” Derek said, a sense of placation in his smooth voice. But Penelope just turned around, popping the lid of her box, revealing 21 cupcakes spelling out—

“Congratulations gradua?” Derek asked, stifling a smile.

“Kevin ate the T,” Penelope said, before glancing down to see that Kevin had eaten the ‘E’ too. “And the E,” she grumbled, and Derek felt slightly uncomfortable. He always felt this empty feeling when she talked about Kevin, although those moments were rather rare between them.

“C’mon you,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he dismissed the pit in his stomach as he guided her to the bullpen. “Listen, I got an idea. You and I could eat the "U" and the "A, " and that way it would say "congratulations, grad." Penelope stopped, genuinely mulling over the idea.

“And here I always imagined you feeding me strawberries,” Penelope smirked, and Morgan couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled out of him, the one Penelope always managed to pull out of him. “Have you heard from Piper yet?”

“She said she’d send us a text when she landed,” Derek said as they walked past the cleared-out desks. Honestly, he was considering moving back down here just to give Spencer the company.

“God, I hope they give her a nice team,” Penelope rambled as they made their way to the conference room. “But not too nice, obviously, because then she might never come back and…” Their voices trailed away as David approached Hotch outside the conference room.

“How are you doing?”

“All right. I'm worried about the team,” Aaron confessed. “And Strauss thinks that adding a probationary agent is gonna solve our problems.”

“Seaver knows she's not replacing Prentiss or Bishop,” Dave said, as though it needed to be said.

“I know. And she's got potential, but we need an experienced profiler, and we need one now.”

“Have you started looking yet?”

“Yeah. Let me know if you have any ideas,” Aaron asked him as the two profilers made their way into the crowded room. Despite appearances, Penelope, Derek and Spencer were still reeling from the recent loss. Penelope was overcompensating with Ashley. Derek was taking things cynically, chuckling humourlessly next to Spencer who, despite pretences, had glazed over eyes as though he hadn’t been sleeping. “Congratulations, Agent Seaver,” Aaron wished her, taking his seat and doing his best to ignore the two empty seats on the table.

“Who made the cupcakes?” Dave asked, offering Ashley a fist-bump and smiling broadly for her.

“I did,” Penelope said cheerily.

“Thank you all for coming to my graduation,” Ashley voiced as they all started to take their seats. “It meant a lot.” She turned her head to listen to Penelope, eyes shifting over the rest of the team. They were headed to Portland, Oregon for a DJ who was bludgeoned by a pipe and then stabbed 31 times before his watch, his cell, and his computer were stolen 2 days ago. Karen Haywood died that morning after being bludgeoned with 8 different weapons of opportunity then stabbed 40 times. With both left- and right-handed wounds, they deduced that they were looking at a group and, according to a neighbour, they’d stolen a computer, some jewellery and a painting of a lily, all pawnable items.

“What do we have, serial killing crooks?” Derek scoffed.

“Sounds like a musical,” Dave remarked humourlessly as they left for the jet. Spencer shuffled behind them, dialling a familiar number. He held the phone between his chin and his shoulder as he packed some things from his desk into his go-bag. It never took this long for her to pick up, although it would make sense if she was in the middle of something.

“ _You’re meant to be at work,”_ her voice bubbled out of the receiver as he shouldered his messenger bag and his duffel. He almost didn’t say anything, savouring the sound of her voice.

“Yeah, I’m, um, I’m on my way to the jet.”

 _“Yeah, Pen sent me the details.”_ Spencer’s forehead wrinkled.

“She did?”

_“Well, you know how Hotch gets when he’s stressed out. Figured I could help if you needed me.”_

“That’s, uh, that’s a smart idea,” Spencer said, chuckling internally as he let the silver doors slide closed. Despite the 2, 811 miles between them, Piper still couldn’t cut herself from them. “So, Dr Bishop, what’s your prognosis on the case?”

 _“Well, Dr Reid, I’m seeing a serious case of overkill with a pinch of robbery, so my diagnosis is a group of unemployed young adults who get off on violence.”_ He heard her pause on the other line, probably double-checking no-one was listening. _“How’s your grey matter doing?”_

“It’s fine,” he lied. “I read 5 books last night.” Another lie.

 _“Right. Well, that’s good.”_ He could hear the relief in her voice. _“How’s the team doing?”_

“Fine,” Spencer supplied, not telling her how Penelope had to drag him to Ashley’s graduation or how Derek had been overly teasing or how empty the bullpen was without their main ladies. “How are you doing?”

 _“Just glad to have something to do.”_ He stepped out of the elevators, joining Derek in his SUV. _“I don’t start until tomorrow so…just setting things up.”_

“Listen, um, I have to go before Derek starts grilling me.” A chuckle spilled from the receiver.

 _“Yeah, okay. Let me know how it goes. Try not to die_ ,” she pleaded. “ _Love you_.”

“You too,” Spencer said easily before hanging up.

* * *

Piper slipped her phone into her jean pocket before rolling up her sleeves and jumping out of the truck onto hard concrete. Her gaze shifted around the neighbourhood, noticing the curtains behind windows open shamefully. She raised a hand at other neighbours with a lot less shame who were gawking from their picket fences as she made her way around to the back of the truck, meeting the sandy-haired man smiling easily like her. Her heart ached for another more familiar smile as she pretended the skin her lips brushed against was Spencer’s. Instead, she pretended the arm swinging around her waist was Spencer’s, not Lincoln’s and the gold ring that glinted in the warm sunlight was hers, not Laurel’s. Instead, she pretended the boxes of books and furniture had Reid-Bishop scribbled on the side, not Rook. Instead, she imagined that the incredibly large and heavy duffel was filled with their books in lieu of surveillance equipment and that the house they were moving into wasn’t under the name of Lincoln and Laurel Rook. It wasn’t that she didn’t want all the things she was being handed. Of course, she wanted the picket fence and the trophy shelves and the laughter ricocheting around ceilings and walls. But not like this. She was shaken from these thoughts as she heard a muffled yell from one of the boxes. She stifled a laugh as Lincoln let Lillian out of the box. The petite woman clambered out, almost toppling over in the process before protesting that nothing happened. Lillian was rather clumsy which clashed almost completely with her real personality which was determined and disciplined and Lincoln covered up his smile by tossing Piper her equipment bag. She started setting up in the bedrooms while Lillian started setting up in the basement. Meanwhile, Lincoln started setting up a secure network they could work from until they heard a shriek from the bathroom. Piper had her gun unholstered immediately and all three agents merged into the hallway only to see Louise Jones in her bathrobe, greying hair spilling over her shoulders. It wasn’t until each one of them flashed their individual credentials that she calmed down, going into her bedroom. Snickering, the others went back to each of their tasks.

* * *

Spencer could barely focus on what was being discussed in the jet, trying to set aside his blinding headache for two minutes so he could plot his geo-profile. Twirling his protractor under the table, he desperately yearned for a cup of tea. The ones in the jet kitchen were no good and he missed the taste of ginger tea that soothed the pounding in his head. It wasn’t until Aaron turned to him, asking for his input, that Spencer passed over his copy of the map that factored the distance of decay and journey to crime distance. His headache was clouding his ability to think, the only value he could bring to the team, and worried as he was, telling Piper would only worry her. He was on his own, miles away from the only person who could give him solace.

Meanwhile, every so often Derek’s eyes would slide up from his file across to the empty seat in front of him and the wrong person in the one next to him. He’d always kept people at arm’s length, but they’d managed to squeeze through the wall, and now they were gone and without knowing it, had taken a part of him with them. It was like having a limb amputated. Everything felt fine until he tried to lift that limb and he remembered it wasn’t there anymore. But Derek shook it off. It was worse for the others, he was sure.

Dave had always thought of Emily as his daughter and he missed having someone around to appreciate his wit. No-one had even scoffed at the idea of a serial-killing crook musical. Emily would’ve choked at least a little bit and Piper would have given at least a small snicker. Aaron never appreciated his humour while on a case and his wit always flew over Spencer’s head, that was if he had listened to it in the first place. But David was never one to wallow in grief. Instead, he focused on the gruesome scene that he and Aaron would have to visit later.

Piper was sipping iced tea in the lounge room because apparently, her cover was a modernised Daisy from the Great Gatsby, a joke that Lillian pretended not to appreciate. Louise was going through her daily routine, from the laundry to lunch prep, trying not to look over Piper’s shoulder at the gruesome photos on her tablet. Every so often, she imagined something she would say to Emily about the crime scenes, something that would make her crack up. She wasn’t quite sure when they’d worked the system out, but at some point, Piper had been worried about the supernatural way Emily could compartmentalise her emotions. She supposed it was her way to check everything was okay because heaven knew they all needed therapy.

Aaron acknowledged that Seaver had untapped potential and no doubt this team would do her good. But it was impossible to ask her to replace two seasoned, experienced profilers. Piper had years of academic experience in analysing behaviours, especially erratic and abnormal behaviours. Emily had more languages under her belt than all of them combined and had unrivalled experience in terrorist behaviour. Both stars in their fields, Aaron couldn’t help feeling as though they were both wasting their potential in other jobs. Emily in hiding herself away and Piper as a victims specialist. The truth is, he just missed both of them.

Ashley would have to be stupid to miss how everyone was overly nice to her. In truth, Spencer had barely spoken a real word to her since her graduation. It wasn’t that she missed his info-dumping or his rambles. It was more that the disappearance of it worried her. Derek, while wishing her the best and whole-heartedly accepted her into their little family, the loss of Emily was still looming over his head. But Ashley was determined to dig her heels in and get the job done. She wasn’t JJ or Emily or Piper, but she was Ashley Seaver, and she would make them proud. So, she tried as hard as she could, voicing every thought that came to her head, hoping it would stick. She suggested the unsubs might be on drugs, did extra research on the club where their first vic was found, extrapolated that they were all the same age only to have Spencer agree passively, his sunglasses shielding his eyes from the sun. She even helped Derek figure out that maybe they were dealing with a schizophrenic and afterwards, delivered her part of the profile impeccably, receiving a thumb pointing up from Dave and silence as usual from Hotch. Her gaze shifted to Spencer practically running away to the bathroom, Derek going after him.

Derek let the door swing closed behind him as he approached Spencer washing his face. “You know that profile kind of makes it sound like schizophrenia leads to serial killing,” he said, grabbing a paper towel to wipe his face dry.

“That's not what we said at all, Reid,” Derek offered.

“You know, my mom has schizophrenia,” Spencer steamrolled ahead, wiping his hands with the paper. “There are many different types.”

“I know that,” Derek supplied.

“Catatonic, disorganized... Just because someone suffers from an inability to organize their thoughts or they can't bathe or dress, it doesn't mean they'd stab someone in the chest 30 times post-mortem,” Spencer finished, throwing the used towel in the bin.

“Reid, what's really going on?”

“Our unsub's hallucinations aren't fractured like a typical schizophrenic,” Spencer answered, leaning against the sink, careful not to touch it. “They're vivid and clear, leading me to believe that we're missing an important variable. Rather than making crazy conjectures, I think we should be trying to figure out what it is.” Derek stepped closer, finally realising what he was getting at.

“Okay, listen to me. I know this is a scary age for you,” Derek said. “It's when schizophrenic breaks happen.” Spencer stared at the tiled floor. “Have you talked to anybody about this?”

“Emily,” he said softly. “And Piper,” he added.

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“12, they all say I’m fine.”

“Then why don’t you believe them?”

“Because predicting one's chances of developing a genetic condition are like finding a penny in an ocean,” Spencer broke. “I have terrible headaches. I can't sleep at night. I can't focus on our cases. I only read 5 books last week,” he confessed.

“Come on, kid, you gotta cut yourself some slack,” Derek pleaded. “You're also depressed about Prentiss and you’re angry about Bishop, and I get it... we all are. Reid, I miss them every day. But if your mind was splitting, do you really think you'd be able to figure out that this team is missing a variable?” Spencer finally found the courage to glance up at him.

“I’m just speculating that we are,” he said, quiet determination in his voice. “I need to prove it.”

“Okay, then you do that. The moment you are wandering around the streets aimlessly, that's when I'll be concerned about you,” Derek said in his warm, teasing tone when David popped his head through the door, telling them Derek was needed to answer some questions for the press. Spencer pulled out his cell to call the first number in his speed-dial.

 _“Oh, good, I was just about to call you,”_ her voice rang through, terribly bright. _“Settle an argument for me, was coffee invented in Arabia or Ethiopia?”_ It threw him off for a minute.

“Um…Ethiopia.”

 _“Shit, the kid was right,”_ Piper groaned before remembering that he had called her, not the other way around. _“So, Dr Reid, what can I do you for?”_

“Can schizophrenic hallucinations force someone to kill?”

_“Wh- That’s a hell of a way to greet your girlfriend.”_

“Technically, you attacked me with a question about where coffee was invented.” He heard silence on the other line.

_“Touché, Doc. Uh, is this about that case?”_

“Yeah.”

_“Oh, no way. I mean, usually paranoid schizophrenics have hallucinations about someone they’ve wronged, and they’d have to be vivid ones at that. Usually it’s just—”_

“Auditory, I know,” Spencer sighed before his brain picked up what she’d just said. “Wait, someone that they’ve wronged?”

_“Well, yeah. Typically, paranoid schizophrenics, at least the ones that have it the worst, have usually felt guilty about something. Sometimes it’s dead loved ones or family members who we’ve pushed away. There was this one case with a mother who had a miscarriage, and she heard a baby crying during an episode. In another one, there was a father who once had an episode so distressing it drove his wife away and after that, he kept visualising her. These really vivid hallucinations of her just yelling at him and—Spence?”_

“Yeah, I’m listening,” Spencer confirmed.

_“No, I mean—is everything okay?”_

“No, I’m fine.”

_“Listen, the chances of it going to this extreme are incredibly rare. Most people have a completely mild form of it.”_

“What happened to the man?” Spencer asked her quietly. “The one who drove his wife away?” There was silence on the other end of the line. “Piper?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” she said, her voice incredibly distant and small. _“The case was in the early 90s. They didn’t have as much scientific evidence. They just submitted him to ECT and uh, and eventually he learnt to pretend he wasn’t_ _suffering anymore. He um… He died a couple of years ago, Spence.”_ He’d be lying if that concept didn’t shake his core. The idea that a schizophrenic break could potentially push her and anyone else away was terrifying and they both knew it.

“I, uh, I have to go, we’re about to deliver the profile,” Spencer lied.

_“Okay, well, uh, I love you and um, be careful, please.”_

“You got it,” he promised. “And I love you too.” Satisfied that he’d done enough, he hung up, leaving Piper alone, surrounded by a detailed profile of each of her neighbours. While he asked Garcia to look at juvie records and arrests within their surrounding area, Piper cleared each of her neighbours for possible ties to the IRA. But she was living in an Irish-free area and with her task of the day done, she left the bedroom for Lincoln to get some rest while she watched over the young blonde boy sleeping easily. She turned to her tablet, lighting up her face in the darkness, save for the nightlight next to Declan’s bed as she went through each of the photos one last time. Her cell buzzed and she picked it up, keeping her voice quiet as she answered.

“ _Hey, you. I haven’t heard from you in a bit.”_ Penelope’s voice was like soothing music to her ears.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t call. I thought you might be busy.”

“ _Never too busy for you. How are you holding up?”_

“Day to day, Pen. What about you?”

_“Well, Sergio is an absolute treat and I’m so glad you gave him over to me.”_

Right, well, I’m glad you love him because I do not. First time I held him, he jumped off and started coughing out a furball. So, he is all yours,” Piper said softly, eliciting a warm giggle from Penelope. “I’m glad you called,” Piper offered. “It was starting to get a little lonely here.” She heard silence on the other end. It wasn’t often she could make Penelope speechless. “And um… somehow, you always manage to make me feel better.”

_“Oh. Well, be still my bespectacled heart. Thank you.”_

“Hey, you are taking care of my babies, right?”

_“Oh my god, yes. I needed to confirm with you before I start watering. So, the English ivy gets misted and the tea rose is drenched, right?”_

“Yep. And what are you doing with the dahlias?”

_“Soak down to the roots. And the rosemaries?”_

“Make sure they’re completely dry before watering it.”

 _“Okay, I think I’ve got it. What do I do with the succulent army?”_ Piper stifled a laugh.

“If the soil is dry to the touch, then water, otherwise absolutely not.”

_“Okay. Got it. Does Spencer remember all these instructions?”_

“Pen, Spencer knows how to prune bonsai trees,” she reminded her gently.

_“Right, duh. Of course, he does.”_

“Hey, how’s he doing?”

 _“Which one?”_ Penelope scoffed, surrounded by Piper’s green children.

“Spencer. How’s he doing?”

_“Wh—he seems fine. Is everything okay?”_

“It’s probably nothing,” Piper dismissed. “How’s the profile going?”

 _“Oh, that. They finished ages ago.”_ She heard the distinct spray of her bottle over the phone.

“Really?” Piper asked, her eyes fixated on the starry nightlight. Spencer was lying to her. “Hey, listen, I have to go. Doctor Who’s starting in a bit.”

“Okay. Bye!” The line hung up, leaving Piper watching over the pre-pubescent boy in the dark, her feet tucked into her armchair, wondering what the hell Spencer was hiding.

* * *

In the morning, another dead body had been called to the BAU’s attention, this time a woman in her late 50s, one they theorised to be a surrogate for the unsub’s mother. Derek bent down next to the woman, estimating there to be at least 50 wounds, something Spencer corrected immediately, his eyes tracking exactly 71 stab wounds. It hadn’t hit him before, but now, knowing they were dealing with a single unsub, it was much easier to figure out that their unsub must have been so exhausted from stabbing the woman, that he simply slept there. Not only was the person they were looking for a schizophrenic, but also an insomniac which explained the large bloodstain in the carpet next to their victim. That was the last variable in the equation. The insomnia was what made the hallucinations so clear, and sleep was the only release that he got from them. Garcia had an update waiting for them by the time they got back.

“So, I double-checked with our favourite genius on the West Coast and cross-referenced my list of schizophrenics with arrest records in the 40-mile radius and then cross-checked that with any purchases of anti-psychotic drugs like Thorazine or Proxilin and I’ve got a separate list of acquittals because my favourite lady genius thought that his condition might have resulted in a sealed juvie record.”

“Any of them have prescriptions filled for sleeping medication as well?” Spencer asked over the line.

“Yes, one. Ben Foster, he has a prescription for Thorazine and Ambien.”

“It’s likely he uses the stolen items to pay for the pills,” Dave suggested.

“What’s his background, baby girl?” Derek prodded.

“He moved to Portland 3 years ago. A month ago, he was in an apartment fire, after which he got a sleeping pill medication because his insomnia began again.”

“Isn’t that a part of the homicidal triad?” Ashley piped up and Aaron nodded to her dismissively, letting Penelope continue.

“I'm looking at the police report right now. It turns out 2 months before, his mom had a local minister perform an exorcism on him, and the 3 people who were killed in the fire helped perform that exorcism.”

“Was Ben charged?” Aaron asked her.

“No. He was acquitted in juvie court.”

“You have an address for us, baby girl?”

“2627 Halden Way. PG out.” She hung up, sending a quick voicemail to Piper’s cell as the profilers left to corner the address. Derek slammed through the front door; his gun raised to an empty, trashed apartment. Chair legs scattered the house and the lamplight flickered. Ben Foster was on the run. The team left, splitting up into teams of two as they patrolled the residences. Spencer flanked Hotch’s side as they scanned the houses while Seaver trailed Morgan’s side. His dark eyes glanced into an alley to spot the running young man through the locked gate. Derek rattled the gate and restrained from cursing as he beckoned Ashley and they sprinted after him, feet pounding into the concrete floor as they turned a corner, only to lose him. Resigned, the two kept patrolling the back alleys.

Piper lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Exhausted as she was from last night’s shift, she couldn’t fall asleep ever since Penelope sent her that voicemail. The team had an affinity for getting into trouble with Derek and Spencer being the first ones under fire in the line of duty. She desperately wanted to call him and to check if he was okay, except it didn’t matter even if she did. He’d probably just lie and say he was fine as if that was going to worry her any less. Sighing, Piper turned to her right side, trying her hardest to fall asleep.

Meanwhile, Spencer and Hotch stopped in the middle of the residences, throwing their gaze around, hoping to hit Ben Foster with it until finally they turned to the house on their immediate left, noticing a young boy closing the curtains. Hotch only caught a small glimpse of the boy’s face, but he knew immediately, only reinforced with a glance at Spencer. He radioed it in before moving to the front of the house. Aaron turned the doorknob, which was open, presumably how Ben got into the house in the first place. Together, Hotch and Reid merged through the hallway and out into the living room to see Ben pull the young boy off the chair, not turning around until Aaron called out for him to drop the knife. He swayed, slowly turning around to view them more clearly. “Shoot me,” he croaked and out of the corner of Aaron’s gaze, he watched Spencer move in front of him, holstering his gun.

“Ben, we're not gonna shoot you,” Spencer promised. “But we do need you to put down that knife, okay? All right, where are the other people in this room, Ben?”

“Right there,” Ben murmured, the young boy still in his grasp as he gestured behind Spencer with his knife.

“Right here?” Spencer asked, stepping forward. He’d watched Piper train with knives for hours with Derek, wincing every time she was disarmed. He was only there because Derek had pulled each one of them down for an hour’s worth of defence training. They were only prop knives though; he’d never tried anything like this with real ones. “Were they there for the exorcism?” Ben nodded fiercely.

“I didn't kill them, though. I didn't do it. And I'm not lying!” he yelled, the younger boy wincing as his grip tightened.

“Ben, they're dead and they can't hurt you anymore,” Aaron said firmly as Ashley burst through from the back, followed by Derek.

“They—They can’t?”

“No, Ben. Your mind is playing tricks on you,” Derek said, and Spencer felt his control over the situation slipping. “Once you get help, it'll all stop.” Ben’s gaze flickered back to Spencer, yelling.

“Yes, you are…Yeah, ok. All right, I killed you. I set the fire.”

“Ben, listen to us,” Derek interjected. “It's okay. We're gonna get you a doctor's help. I promise you that.”

“No. The... The only way that you can help me is if you do it...” Ben said over his shoulder to Derek. “If you kill me.”

“That’s not true, Ben. Listen, the only way we can help you is if you put down the knife, okay?” _Grip the wrist. Point the knife away. Kick out the dominant leg. Swivel the shoulder to the floor. Knee on the chest._

“Are you sure?” Ben asked, his eyes glazed over, not quite believing what Spencer was saying.

“Put that knife down, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” Ben said, trying his best to organise his thoughts as he pushed the kids away. Derek led them over to Ashley, his gun still raised at Ben. Preparing himself, Ben lunged for Spencer who grabbed Ben’s wrist, pushing him down to the floor as the knife clattered to the carpet. Spencer barely heard Derek’s compliment over Ben’s small groan, and Spencer lifted himself off the floor, feeling Aaron squeeze his shoulder softly as they watched Derek carefully handcuff Ben and take him away.

* * *

Derek leant against the jet’s kitchen counter, waiting for Piper to pick up her phone. “ _Hi, what’s up?_ ” Piper’s voice leaked through the phone and Derek felt an easy smile grace his lips, forgetting why he’d called her in the first place.

“Just missed your voice angel.”

_“Ugh. You’re so sappy, Der. It really doesn’t suit you.”_

“How was your first day?” Derek asked her gently.

_“Not that bad. Everyone’s pretty cool.”_

“Not as cool as us though,” Derek insisted.

 _“No, they’re not as cool as Rossi,”_ Piper teased.

“Ouch. That hurts.”

“ _Good_ ,” Piper giggled. “ _But, seriously, Derek. How are you?”_

“I miss her,” he confessed, his voice small. “It just—it shouldn’t have been her, you know?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” she said.

“Now if it were you, that would be a different story,” Derek tried jokingly.

_“Thanks, that makes me feel great.”_

“Hey, you didn’t want sappy,” Derek retorted.

“ _Touché_ ,” she laughed. Piper seemed better, Derek noted. Laughing and teasing like she always did. But he supposed that made sense. She was always mentally healthier than the rest of them: going to therapy, exercising, meditating. _“Hey, um… how’s our boy wonder doing?”_ Derek glanced over at the resting figure on the couch with his blanket, using his bag as a pillow.

“He’s sleeping for once.”

 _“No, I meant—he hasn’t been sleeping?”_ Her question made him bolt upright, panicking at what he was supposed to say. _Play dumb._

“What’s sleep?” _Not that dumb._

“ _Derek_ ,” she said threateningly. _“I will come over there myself and hit you with Penelope’s rock-hard heels if you don’t—”_

“Okay, he just said he hadn’t been sleeping,” Derek confessed quickly. “I thought you knew.” But he just heard a long sigh on the other end of the line.

_“Derek, swear to me you’ll keep an eye on him.”_

“I will,” he said confusedly. “I swear. Piper, what he’s afraid of, is it possible?” He heard silence on the other end of the line.

_“Yeah, it’s possible. An old colleague, he’s sending me Spencer’s blood test results soon. But no-one knows what causes schizophrenia and we both know what Spencer’s like.”_

“Yeah.” To the kid, everything was a science. Everything could be calculated, every phenomenon narrowed down to a statistic, which explained his outburst in the bathroom. “Hotch wants to do an internal assessment of the team.”

_“Makes sense. He doesn’t want the team to fracture any more than it has already.”_

“I just don’t know how he’s coping with all of this.”

_“I dunno, Der. Maybe he finally wised up and started seeing a therapist.”_

“Yeah, when hell freezes over.”

_“Actually, there are some religions that portray hell as cold, particularly Tibetan Buddhism and in Dante’s Inferno, the 9 th circle of hell is actually a frozen lake of blood—”_

“Listen, I think Seaver’s calling me, I gotta go,” Derek cut her off and Piper laughed.

 _“Yeah, I’m sure she is. Bye.”_ Derek suppressed a chuckle as he slipped the phone into his pocket and grabbed his cup of coffee, moving away from the jet kitchen, past a softly snoring Rossi and a fast asleep Aaron, over to Ashley who looked over a file Penelope had pulled on Ben.

“Why are you still up?” Derek asked, handing her the cup which she accepted gratefully.

“I've been looking over Ben's file,” Ashley said, putting the brown file away. “Turns out he'd been seeing evil imaginary friends ever since he was a child.”

“Ben was always a killer,” Derek said. “You think he had schizophrenia?”

“He may have suffered from some mental disease, but schizophrenia usually presents itself in your late teens or early 20s,” Ashley remembered from their profile.

“Ben did kill those people in that church fire,” Derek supplied. “Which is part of the homicidal triad.”

“And his mother thought an exorcism would get rid of the demons,” Ashley scoffed.

“The only way you stop a killer is to catch him, Seaver,” Derek consoled her from his seat.

“You know, I always viewed serial killers as monsters,” Ashley confessed. “But Ben's remorse seemed real. And that's why I can't sleep. I... I can't get him out of my mind. Does it ever go away?” Derek glanced up and over to Spencer sleeping peacefully on the couch.

“Luckily it does,” Derek said, getting up to find himself a place to sleep. “Try to get some rest.”


End file.
